


Sunday Night Dinners

by marrieddorks



Series: the truth about secret relationships [4]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Damen fumbles over words sometimes, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marrieddorks/pseuds/marrieddorks
Summary: Sunday night dinners were their longest held school year tradition.  Two years ago, Auguste's friends met Laurent for the first time at one.
Series: the truth about secret relationships [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520780
Comments: 32
Kudos: 172





	Sunday Night Dinners

**Author's Note:**

> hi! sorry for this one taking a little longer to get out. I started my second term courses on the 28th, had Halloween to do, a concert, and I'm still behind on homework. but! here is how they all met Laurent. there's nothing groundbreaking here, but it's only a glimpse of what their first few weeks were like two years ago. 
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who has read thus far. I hope this one is enjoyed and gives more of a look at who Damen and Laurent are in this little world.

_2 Years Ago_

The beginning of a new school year was always the time that everyone made big plans that, ultimately, were never followed through. Commitments to study habits, workout routines, diets, and all other foundational parts to being a multi-functioning human being in a college-drowning world were often lost in the overwhelming busyness of unmatched schedules, constant stressors, and lack of sleep that accompanied it all. But if there was one plan everyone in the too big friend group of Arles Academy graduates and Ios High School degree holders were good at keeping, it was a Sunday night dinner.

No, Sunday night dinner wasn’t like any traditional family dinner. Sunday night dinner at 356 Steppes Street involved squeezing nine adult sized boys into a 10x12 dining room with a table only intended to seat four. And, instead of home cooked meals full of comfort and made with love, the food at these dinners normally came via delivery from a pizza chain or pick-up from a place that made food dripping in grease and that left eighteen hands covered in cheese or chicken wing sauce.

The first dinner was always the most important, right next to the last one. And the first one was always the one they spent an ungodly amount of money on pizza.

“How many pizzas did you order?” Orlant yelled around the open refrigerator door.

“Five!” Auguste yelled back.

“How many are pepperoni?”

“Two!”

“How many are supreme?”

“Two!”

“The last one?”

“Cheese, Orlant.”

“Did we get drinks?”

“No, we have beer. Damen and Nik brought it.”

“Anything else?”

“Two things of breadsticks and three dozen chicken wings.”

It was comical seeing Auguste emerge from the front door he had been yelling from. His arms were outstretched and steady and holding all the foods he had just told Orlant about.

“Do you need help?” Lazar asked, making no effort to move from his seat.

Auguste didn’t reply. Instead he kept inching forward until he could get close enough to the table to bend his knees a little and slide everything in his arms onto its flat surface.

“I’ve got it,” he huffed out.

“Cool.”

It was almost more comical, however, watching nine grown boys circle around a table like animals around a body of water in the safari before scuttling back to the living room and its gloriously large television that was still blaring football statistics in preparation for the night’s game.

“I’m saying,” Nik started around a mouthful of pizza, “the Lions are going to win by two touchdowns tonight.”

“No way.”

“Mathelin is unstoppable,” Pallas agreed with Nik.

As it did every year, that started the loud argument between the Lions and the Kings fans. The argument was so loud that no one heard the footsteps in the kitchen.

“I’ll be back, Auguste,” an unfamiliar voice sounded out suddenly, successfully halting the ensuing argument in its track.

All nine heads whipped around at the same time. That was by far the most comical thing of the already comical evening.

There, in the threshold between the two rooms, stood an unknown face to most the group. It would have been impossible to forget a face like his had it been seen before, after all. He was tall and long; mostly legs. Dressed in black, his blond hair stood out more than even the bright blue of his eyes. In his hands was a ring of keys and a black leather wallet, and he appeared unfazed by all the gawking in his direction.

“Where are you going?” Auguste asked, breaking the tension of the suddenly quiet room.

“Coffee shop. We’re out and I need caffeine to finish my reading.” His voice was clear.

“You’re coming right back?”

“Yes, Auguste.”

“You’ve got your phone?”

“Yes, Auguste?”

“You’ll be careful?”

“Yes, Auguste.”

And then he was gone, the sound of his boots disappearing out the front door. Almost everyone spoke at once.

“Um…”

“Who was that?’

“Who is he?”

“Where did he come from?”

And all the questions of the like.

“That’s Laurent,” Auguste said over all of their voices. “My little brother.”

“Bue he’s so,” Lazar made a face, “and you’re so,” Lazar made another face.

“I’m sure,” Auguste pretended to understand. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m going to go get more pizza. Please refrain from saying all the things I’m sure you’re going to say about Laurent until I’m out of the room. I don’t want to have to kill you and if I don’t hear it, then I can’t do anything, right?”

They all refrained, even if it took covering Lazar’s mouth to do so.

“Hey, so what the actual fuck?”

“Did you know Auguste had a smokin’ hot brother?”

“I knew he had a brother, but I didn’t know he looked like that.”

“You’ve known Auguste since forever, Berenger, did you know?”

Berenger shifted at the sudden attention. “I’ve met Laurent before,” he said, palms flat on his legs, “but I’ve known him since he was fourteen, I’ve never -” he trailed off.

“Never thought about his legs over your shoulders?”

The red of Berenger’s face was the most vibrant of color compared to all his normal shades of brown.

“My god,” Nik whispered, leaning into Damen. “This is what they’re all going to be like until we graduate.” It made Nik want to laugh, made him want to roll his eyes even more than he normally did. But when he looked at Damen for reciprocation of his thoughts, he caught the look on Damen’s face. He was still looking at the door. “Shit, Damen, not you too.”

Damen physically jumped. “What?”

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” Nik said, talking more to himself than Damen. “Blond, blue-eyed, upturned bitchy features. Ticks off half of your masochistic boxes.”

“Not true,” Damen argued, smiling now. “I’m just -” but it was his turn to trail off. “He’s….wow.”

Nik did roll his eyes this time.

“Everyone get that out of their system?”

Auguste was back, standing in the same place Laurent had earlier. He waited a beat.

“Your brother is a fucking fox,” Lazar said. Everyone groaned. “Okay, I’m done.”

\-----

Laurent had returned home, about forty minutes after he had left, to similar stares as before, and he went up the stairs without a word.

Eventually the group’s focus fell back to the game. It had to, actually, when the Lions scored a touchdown in the second quarter and went in for a two point conversion instead of the expected extra point.

By the middle of the fourth quarter, everyone was full of anticipation of the end. The game was a shoo-in for the Lions who were destroying the Kings without mercy.

“I’m getting something to drink, anybody want anything?” Damen asked, shouldering his way out of his seat.

Everyone shook their heads no, or muttered something of the like. Then, eyes were back and glued on the screen.

Damen had to step over Pallas, Orlant, and Rochert’s outstretched legs from where they were sitting on the floor. It was a lot harder than it looked when one had been sitting for nearly two hours straight. When he reached the kitchen, he was so focused on getting the feeling back in his legs from being stagnant for so long that he didn’t notice Auguste’s little brother leaning against the counter.

“It sounds as though victory is minutes away,” Laurent said. Damen jolted and looked up to find blue eyes locked on him. Up close, they were far more dazzling than they had been a room apart; they reminded him of the rooftops in Santorini. They made him think of home.

“It is,” Damen said after too long a pause. “Nik predicted earlier that the Lions would win by two touchdowns. I don’t think he’s too far off.” He paused again and this time, when he spoke, it came out far more reflective of how he was feeling: a little awkward. “Nik is the other big guy in there. He and I kind of tower above everybody else so we’re hard to miss. I’m Damen, by the way.”

Laurent brought his coffee mug up to his lips and it prevented Damen from experiencing the full effect of his expression.

“I’ve heard enough stories about all of you to decipher who is who,” Laurent said.

“That’s not very comforting,” Damen chuckled, but it was just as awkward as the rest of this conversation had been so far. Laurent hummed, and Damen could see the corners of his smile even behind the mug.

“It shouldn’t be.”

Damen laughed for real this time. “The stories couldn’t have been that bad. No worse than anything Auguste has done himself.”

“That’s very true,” Laurent agreed. “All except your friend Lazar.”

“Well, Lazar’s an outlier, he doesn’t count.”

A silence fell upon them and Damen had to wonder if Laurent wasn’t fazed by awkward situations because he looked completely content. His blond hair was windswept from his journey for coffee and his boots that had alerted them all of his presence were gone, leaving just a pair of soft socks. They were patterned.

Suddenly, a loud cheer erupted from the living room and Damen couldn’t tell who was cheering for what and a rush of panic that his Lions were falling behind took precedence over everything else.

“I’m going to go see what just happened. I don’t know if it was good or bad,” Damen said, already taking a step back in the direction he had came from.

“I suppose that depends on who you ask when you get in there,” Laurent said. Damen took another step. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Damen looked at him again, and found his displayed expression amused.

“I do believe you came in here to get a drink.”

“Right,” Damen said after, yet again, another pause. “I should - yeah, I’ll just -” He reached for a bottle of beer that was sitting on the table, unopened, gestured it in a goodbye to Laurent in a manner befitting how he’d been this whole conversation, and ran back into the room, trying not to think of blue eyes watching him leave.

“We’re up two touchdowns!” Pallas screamed at him. “Nik’s a prophet.”

\-----

“Is your brother going to join us this fine evening?” Lazar asked from the passenger seat. Auguste’s car was packed with too many people, but it was a way to guarantee that all their food from Belloy’s Bagels stayed intact for the journey back to Auguste’s house for the game.

“I’ve told him he’s welcome to,” Auguste said. “But he probably won’t.”

“We’re not that bad,” Orlant said from the center backseat. He was squished between Damen and Nik.

“Don’t listen to the guy riding bitch,” Lazar argued. “We’re fantastic.”

“We may be that,” Auguste smiled, “but as a group, we’re not exactly his scene.”

“It’s the way Damen eats chicken wings, isn’t it?” Nik asked none too seriously.

“I’ll tell him again that he can join us, but, like I said, he probably won’t.”

*

“No thank you,” Laurent said, not once looking up from his book.

“Come on, Laurent, they want to get to know you,” Auguste practically begged.

“Have you seen how they eat? I’ll pass, Auguste.”

“Even you’re not that petty. Give them a chance. For me?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Laurent said, looking up for the first time since Auguste barged into his bedroom, unannounced. “Don’t look at me with big, pleading eyes. It’s not befitting you at all.”

“So you’ll come down for the night?”

“If I do and if I hate it, will you ever harass me into doing such a thing ever again?”

Auguste held his right hand over his heart, held his left hand up in a promising manner. “I swear on my life.”

*

The next week, Laurent was already seated in the living room when the guys all came over. He greeted them with a nod of acknowledgement and nothing more and, sure, he had his laptop out and was typing madly, but when they would all scream at the television he would look up. Sometimes they swore they saw him smile.

“Do you all do anything together besides watch football?” he asked them one Sunday, out of the blue. Half of them were in the kitchen, filling their plates up with seconds, but the ones in there immediately gave him all their attention.

“Sure. Do you do anything besides read and do homework?” Rochert asked, leaning forward.

“On occasion.”

“Like what?”

Laurent looked up at them. “Nothing quite as invigorating as I’m sure you’re imagining.”

“No boyfriend then? Girlfriend?” Lazar asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Have we got a lineup of eligible bachelors for you. Predominantly me. I’m very eligible.”

“See, Auguste, this is one of many reasons I didn’t want to be down here,” Laurent said, ignoring Lazar entirely.

“Lazar, leave him alone,” Damen chastised.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t have a blond on my arm, unlike you. I’d like to change that.”

“You know what,” Nik started, “you take Jokaste off of Damen’s hands and I will personally never say anything bad about you ever again.”

“You say bad things about me?”

“Who is Jokaste?” Laurent asked, too intrigued for any comfort.

“Damen’s girlfriend. She’s completely intent on making Damen’s life miserable,” Nik said.

“Wow,” Damen drawled.

“She’s a gorgeous blonde menace with legs to die for and a personality that could leave any grown man begging for mercy. In a fun and awful way all at once,” Lazar continued. “She’s like you in those ways.”

“Okay, I’m going back to my bedroom.”

“See what you did, Lazar? You made him leave.”

“He’s not wrong,” Nik muttered. “But at least he’s not trying to make Damen’s life miserable so we do have that going for all of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very very very much for reading! you all have been so kind to me and it is incredibly appreciated.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @ marrieddorks <3


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